


Founders Day with special effects

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Middle School, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:45:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: Lj Short Affair challenge. Prompts: beard, overdose, red.Mr Waverly has to give prizes at a school. Napoleon and Illya are there as his bodyguards.





	Founders Day with special effects

It was a bright sunny day, not a day for sitting in a school hall listening to the kind of tedious speeches adults liked to engage in to torment the youthful under their control. Napoleon felt quite strongly about it; there were many more interesting projects he could have engaged in than protecting Mr Waverly in such an undertaking. His partner, even with his own experience of this kind of event, was largely indifferent.

“I don’t suppose Mr Waverly will bore them too much,” said Illya. “He _can_ be interesting.”

“Well, that’s damning with faint praise,” said Napoleon, “I rest my case.”

Waverly’s car, ahead of them, turned into the gateway of the school grounds and rolled up the drive to deposit him at the school entrance. Illya swung their own car round and reversed neatly into a space in a restricted parking area nearby.

The entire school was assembled in the hall. Napoleon and Illya took their seats along the side from where they could watch the room. The Headmaster walked onto the platform with Mr Waverly, accompanied by the new Chairman of the School Board, and a wave of emotion, quickly suppressed, swept through the boys. Napoleon turned. Mr Waverly, being barely more than Illya’s height, looked like a ventriloquist’s dummy beside the Chairman, who was at least six foot five with a large beard to match. Illya, who refused to acknowledge height distinctions, saw no humour in the situation so he ignored Napoleon’s nudge and snort of amusement.

Having droned the school into stupor, the Headmaster asked the Chairman to present the junior school prizes. He rose majestically, if a little unsteadily, and leaned forward intimidatingly across the table to address his audience.

Illya, watching that audience, observed marks of incredulity and delight on their faces and looked at the speaker. He either fancied himself as a comic turn or was very drunk. From the look on Mr Waverly’s face, Illya decided it might be the latter.

“Boys!” boomed the giant. “No girls, I see, big mistake, Mr… whatsyourname… Headmaster, big mistake. Where there are girls, life is more civilised, more congenial, more…” he thought for a moment, clearly discarding what he had originally meant to say, then ended lamely, “more decorative. I don’t mean to say,” he shouted, “that boys aren’t decorative! Of course they are, of course they are. I love boys. I mean, I don’t love boys like that, I just… Anyway, Boys! Why are you here? Eh? Why?”

He glared around the rows of faces in front of him and pointed at a small boy with blond curls. “You boy! Why are you here?”

The boy piped, “Sir, to receive a prize, sir.”

“Good God, boy. You haven’t lived long enough to win anything. Who has been fool enough to award _you_ a prize? What for?”

“Bible studies, sir,” the boy said defiantly.

“God bless my soul. Madness.”

Like others, Napoleon was convulsed into his handkerchief as this continued. Illya, accustomed to hiding his feelings in public, maintained a stony expression and continued his surveillance of the hall. This act, if act it was, could be a perfect distraction for anyone planning subversion. “Contain yourself and pay attention, Napoleon,” he muttered.

“I’m in pain,” Napoleon whispered, clutching his aching ribs. “Take me to that nurse, I need care and attention.” The nurse in question was, like Illya, also containing herself a few seats away.

Illya, uninterested in the nurse, glanced at the platform and observed that Waverly too was suspicious. He nudged Napoleon who sat up and tried to look professional as he gazed round. He focussed on the nurse as the Chairman was finally persuaded to hand over prizes to the various small, unworthy recipients. When he sat down, it was to prolonged applause.

Mr Waverly was now invited to present prizes to the senior scholars. He stood up but before he could speak, the Chairman rose again and exclaimed, “Why is this little guy giving away the _big_ prizes? I should have done that!” He flung out his arms as if in supplication and as Mr Waverly disappeared behind them, a shot rang out and the Chairman collapsed.

Just too late, Napoleon had also fired. He had looked away at the wrong moment, but his dart struck the nurse and she too collapsed as the hall erupted in cries of alarm. Illya ran to the platform and found Mr Waverly on his knees beside the Chairman attempting to staunch the bleeding from the man’s arm. “Are you all right, sir?” he said, joining them on the floor.

“No, I’m not all right,” came a booming voice. “I raise a question anyone might have asked and what happens? And if you’ve come for your prize, sonny, you’re too late. They’ve all gone.”

“Mr Waverly?” Illya said, ignoring this.

Waverly smiled grimly. “This gentleman took what I believe was meant for me.”

“It was the nurse,” said Illya. “Napoleon shot her – with a dart.”

“The nurse!” shouted the Chairman. “Who’s gonna deal with this, then?”

“We will,” said Illya, turning away from the alcoholic fumes.

“Does your mother know you’re out? I don’t need a child looking after me!”

Stung, Illya retorted, “I’m over thirty. Calm down, we’re from UNCLE.”

“So she _doesn’t_ know. Well, you don’t deserve a prize anyway.” The Chairman now sat up, red in the face, clutching his arm in its impromptu bandage. He allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

“Mr Kuryakin, before we overdose on the fumes, perhaps you’d like to call for medical assistance.”

Napoleon who had joined them said, “All in hand, sir. They’re on their way.”

The Chairman looked down at him from his Olympian height. “You come for a prize, too?”

“The U.N.C.L.E., is a law enforcement organisation,” said Waverly tartly. “These are my agents.”

“Cradle-snatcher,” said the Chairman, slumping into a chair. “I need a brandy.”

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**Author's Note:**

> Wodehousians will recognise the source of inspiration.


End file.
